


good on my own (needed me)

by mcwho



Series: himbo-verse [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, Drunken Shenanigans, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, can bucky cook??? investigate this, himbo steve, uptight professional bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:21:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23251621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcwho/pseuds/mcwho
Summary: There are some mistakes that could be made by anybody. Anybody. Bucky taught high school pretty much his whole life, and that was fine, those were kids, and he knew all of them anyway, which meant there was very little chance of him accidentally fucking any of his students during an impulsive post-marital-breakdown Grindr hook-up. Which is exactly what he had done with Steve.or: bucky has not let steve rogers fuck him since his sophomore year
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: himbo-verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686034
Comments: 162
Kudos: 1340





	good on my own (needed me)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [good on my own (needed me)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26030962) by [vesnoii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesnoii/pseuds/vesnoii)



> cant believe it only took [checks calendar] four days of state mandated isolation for me to snap and write ten thousand words of mutual pining 
> 
> title taken from rihanna's needed me, god bless

Steven Grant Rogers is late to class for the third time that week when Bucky decides the passive aggressive “nice of you to finally join us” act just isn’t cutting it anymore. 

“—And that, as we know, only inflated the impact of the media —Steve, see me after class please— on the lives of the average person, which led to—"

The rest of Bucky’s sentence is drowned out by various sarcastic “ _ohh_ ”s that Bucky ignores, only pausing briefly to repeat “ _which led to_ ,” louder, before continuing his sentence in the ensuing silence. 

Steve himself is the cover model for youthful bravado and carefully cultivated disinterest, taking a seat and manspreading at the back of the room, his smirk not budging an inch. 

Bucky’s not gonna be the “is something funny to you” teacher. He’s _not_. Not least of all because the fucker would absolutely not be cowed in any way shape or form and is practically begging to be given the floor here. Probably has a smartass response right on the tip of his tongue. 

Ignoring the final quarter of his lesson plan, Bucky finishes his current point and then instructs them all to complete the mini essay activity in their textbooks so he can have a few minutes to himself to gather his wits before sitting through his imminent self-inflicted verbal battle with the kid who picks arguments with the head of the debate team for fun, and wins.

Bucky opens his laptop and taps his fingers on the trackpad as he waits for it to wake up. His students are typing quietly, whispering to each other occasionally, questions about what they’re working on. All except for Steve who he can hear telling some girl who is undoubtedly his latest future conquest about how he’s so clueless and could she help him out? Thanks so much. 

Steve is one of Bucky’s top students. There’s a big fucking brain underneath that backwards snapback. But, of course, she giggles obligingly and moves her bag off of the seat next to her so he can slide into it and then slide it even closer to her. 

If this were, say, high school, and not an institute of higher learning for adults, and Bucky _wouldn’t_ look like a power-hungry crazy for telling Steve or any of the other students where to sit, he absolutely would demand that this action be reversed but – but whatever, it’s fine, Steve’s not his business and great, his laptop’s finally all loaded up.

He takes a few deep breaths, matching them with that of the guy who always sits up front and would probably still look as vaguely uninterested as he always does if an asteroid were to come careening in through the window wall next to him. It helps, a little, even as he opens up his emails and sees his lawyer in there shooting him a heads up regarding the latest development in the proceedings against his soon-to-be-ex-wife. Bucky calmly types “thanks for handling it” because there are several other paragraphs beneath that one that Bucky can’t read right now for the sake of his deep, steady breathing. He assumes Beth _will_ be handling it – he’s paying her more than enough to, that’s for sure. 

After spending an indeterminable amount of time halfassedly grading papers, he hears the tell-tale shuffling of his student’s papers that means their hour together is up. 

“See you guys tomorrow,” Bucky says, trying to not sound too dejected. At that, the shuffling turns into laptops shutting and full-blown chatter. Out of the side of his eye, he sees Steve tapping digits into his new girl’s phone as everyone starts to file out. 

“I’ll wait for you,” she says jokingly, standing and leaving too, Steve staying seated as per Bucky’s request. Steve winks and she rolls her eyes and pretends to not be charmed by him. Bucky knows the act well.

The last person leaves, and then it’s just Bucky at his desk and Steve sitting and staring at him, a few rows back.

“Well isn’t this cozy,” Steve smiles, eyes bright and blue and challenging. 

“Can it,” Bucky says. “You know why I asked you to stay behind today?”

“I’m not answering that without a lawyer,” Steve says, which makes Bucky want to give a bitter laugh.

“Everything’s just a big joke to you, huh?”

“Listen,” Steve begins, all ready to schmooze his way out of this.

“Class starts when it starts, Steve. I need you here on time like everybody else, not strolling in whenever you feel like.”

Steve sighs, like Bucky’s just being irrational, then stands up and, hooking his backpack over his shoulder, walks down to stand in front of, and over, Bucky. “I hear you, I do. I just had something that needed finishing up before class today.”

“Which was?” Bucky challenges.

"Nice to see you still care what I'm up to," Steve tells him. “Look, Coach Odinson’s been on my ass all season, that’s all. Practice ran over a little late, but I’ll talk to him-“

“You do that.”

“I _will_. Fuck, you’re uptight. Is, uh,” Steve’s voice drops to a low whisper. “Is it the d-“

“None of your business, Steve,” Bucky sighs. 

“Used to be," Steve says, sighing dramatically. "I miss us. You can talk to me, you know,” Steve says.

“You can go now,” Bucky tells him. “And talk to the _Coach_.”

“I mean, I’ll try, but I’m his star player. He needs me. You know how that goes,” Steve says, smile in his voice, trying very hard to convey the message _I know what you look like when you come,_ with his eyes alone.

“Don’t,” Bucky snaps at him, flushing despite his best efforts and sending Steve’s grin into full blown laughter as he backs out of the room. 

“Uh-huh. Catch you later, Bucky,” Steve calls, backing away and out of the room before Bucky can say anything else.

Steve Rogers is fucking trouble.

Listen-

There are some mistakes that could be made by anybody. Anybody. Bucky’s taught high school pretty much his whole life, and that was fine, those were kids, and he knew all of them anyway, which meant there was very little chance of him accidentally fucking any of his students during an impulsive post-marital-breakdown Grindr hook-up. Which is exactly what he had done with Steve. 

The summer Bucky had become newly single had been the best and worst of his life. It had started with the call confirming he'd gotten the job teaching at the University, due to start in the fall, and then there was sex, and discovery, and more sex, and lawyers, and it had ended with a bang as he stood in front of a room of college sophomores and seen a very familiar face smirking right back at him.

Bucky had ended it right away. That very same day. Once the initial panic sweats had died down, Bucky had determinedly avoided Steve’s gleeful face for the entire hour-long lesson, grabbed his shit on the hour, and fled the room. 

The texts from Steve predictably came pouring in. Bucky blocked his number. It had no real effect. Steve was relentless, reckless, and he knew where he lived. Bucky is _just_ a man.

But _eventually_ , a couple of months into the school year, but who’s counting, Bucky had put his foot down and no number of suggestive looking or shameless attempts at invoking jealously or _parking his fucking Honda outside of Bucky’s house while blasting love songs_ were going to get Bucky to cave. He had a job, a _good_ job, and God knows he couldn’t afford to lose it right now with his ex extending every effort to bleed him dry, and Steve was a kid, with a future ahead of him that shouldn’t involve a bitter divorcee.

The point is – Bucky has not let Steve Rogers fuck him since his sophomore year, there’s only a couple more months left ‘til he graduates, and all he’s got to do is hang in until he’s gone, or finally knocks up one of these girls he likes to parade around in front of Bucky or both.

x

Bucky eats lunch with Natasha as usual. She lets him be as antisocial as he pleases today, and he scrolls through the email from his lawyer because not being informed on what Beth thinks is pertinent enough to tell him about is like opening the door and allowing the devil to enter his home, as much as he’d love to bury his head under the sand.

Natasha steals another one of his chips and says, as she chews, “You look fucking pissed.”

Bucky lets that sit there for a second, and then nods. It sums his general mood up nicely. “Yeah.” Natasha hasn’t known a Bucky that’s _not_ in the middle of a divorce, so he figures he’s got to look even more agitated than usual for her to say something. Fucking Steve.

“You know,” she says, crunching happily because Bucky is yet to stop her from eating his food. “Dwelling on it isn’t gonna make things better.”

“Not gonna make things worse,” Bucky grumbles.

“Yeah, it is,” she tells him, and then taps her finger on the middle of Bucky’s forehead twice. “In here.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but sits away from his laptop for a second, leaning back in his chair. “And what do you recommend, huh?” Natasha smiles and reaches for her purse. “Uh, I’ve tried teaching on Xanax and it’s not–”

“I’m not giving you drugs,” Natasha snorts. “I don’t like you _that_ much. Here,” she says, handing him a small business card. “Some street promoter gave it to me the other day.”

“You just take things people hand you on the street?" Bucky raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I had my mace.”

“A bar,” Bucky surmises, blinking at the colourful card in his hands. 

“It’s a new one, downtown. Meant to open up this weekend. We’re going. You should come, let your hair down.”

Bucky scans through the tiny script promising $4 cocktails ‘til midnight. Couldn’t hurt to get drunk in a group this Saturday as opposed to alone, right? He used to actually make an effort to socialise with the other instructors, back when he first started. Lately he just sits on his own and reads his emails until one or all of them come and sit near him and gaze upon him in pity before attempting to cheer him up.

“Yeah. They’d be happy to see you.” The _we’re worried about you_ , is silent, but Bucky bristles at it anyway.

“I’ll see,” he says, suddenly a little gruff. 

“I wasn’t asking. You’re coming,” she tells him, then reaches for another chip. Bucky snatches the bag away but she’s just a little quicker. “Ha-ha,” she singsongs, and then the door swings open, and she looks over his shoulder. “Hey, Thor,” she greets. “Bucky’s coming out this weekend.”

Bucky gets a giant, meaty hand clasping him on the shoulder in approval and rattling his skeleton. “Happy to hear it. It hasn’t been the same without you.”

“Yeah we miss having someone to drink under the table then carry home,” Natasha smiles. Bucky flicks a chip at her face and she actually opens her mouth and catches it. Bucky cannot win.

Thor pulls out a seat next to Bucky, and Bucky turns to him, shutting his laptop so as to keep the state of his email inbox private. “What’s with you making my students late for my classes?” Bucky accuses, finally treating to himself to a mouthful of his own chips.

Thor pulls out a sandwich. “Which one?” he asks.

“Steve Rogers. He came in twenty minutes late today, says you were holding him back.”

Thor’s expression shifts, smoothing out into understanding. “Oh, Steve. He’s of more use on the field than he is in class, plays like I’ve never seen before – you know he could probably go pro?”

“Fucking athletes,” Bucky rolls his eyes. “You can’t just keep him late because he could _go pro_.”

“Says you,” Thor mutters, mouth full. “Fine, I’ll see what I can do.”

x

The remainder of the school week passes in a blur. Bucky mechanically responds to emails, grades papers, and orders takeout, and on Friday, the next time he has Steve’s class, Steve is there bright and early, sat in the front row. He has a notebook out with the date penned in the corner, and writing utensils laid neatly next to him. He might as well clasp his hands together and bat his eyelashes at Bucky, with how much he’s trying to prove his little point here.

Bucky lets his eyes slide over him like he barely notices, and slides into his own seat at the head of the room – its early still, people walking in casually. 

“What, that’s it?” Steve asks, sounding indignant. 

“Not gonna applaud a fish for swimming, Steve,” Bucky tells him, looking at him, unamused.

“See this is why I like Coach Odinson,” Steve says huffily. “’Least he appreciates me. Gives me the encouragement I deserve,” Steve says, looking right at Bucky, innuendo laced through every word.  
Bucky doesn’t reply, nor does he allow his facial expression to change at all because now he’s battling with the sudden realisation that Steve might be fucking Thor.

Bucky is not naïve enough to think that Steve doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing here, so he spares himself having to see his smug face or hear his smug voice and goes right back to ignoring him.

So, this is where they’re at now? Bucky wasn’t asking Steve to meet him in his office and then riding him into his desk chair after witnessing some freshman touch his arm and having some weird wave of uncontrollable possessiveness wash over him, so he’s calling in the big guns? Fucking seriously? 

But – no, there’s no way. 

Bucky’s letting Steve get in his head. Thor wouldn’t, he’s not that stupid. Even though Bucky has been. Multiple times.

But _is_ it that stupid? Steve’s a student _now_ , sure but he’s about 90 days from walking out of here forever to the tune of _Pomp and Circumstance_ and then what? Then nothing. Then Thor could fucking shack up with him and adopt a cat if he wanted to, he wouldn’t be breaking any rules by it. Jokes on Thor, Steve’s a dog person. 

Bucky’s losing it a little.

Bucky opens up the PowerPoint for this lesson and breathes along with the front-row stoner kid.

x

Natasha comes over to get him on Saturday, looking like she is on a mission specifically to break as many hearts as possible, and Bucky tells her as much. Natasha thanks him and reapplies her gloss while they wait for the Uber.

Bucky notices her eyeing him speculatively as she does so and asks, “What?”

“What if,” Natasha says, recapping and putting her lip-gloss in her bra. “We tried a half updo look.”

“What, like Ariana Grande?” Bucky asks.

Natasha gives him a dry look. “I cannot believe it took a divorce for you to figure out you weren’t straight. Yeah, like Ariana, c’mere.”

Bucky doesn’t bother telling her that it wasn’t really that he figured it out so much as his wife accused him of it in the early stages of the dissolution of their marriage and it haunted him until he finally decided to test out the theory on some beefy 22 year old Art major. She knows the important points, and that’s all that matters.

Bucky lets Natasha do his hair with a bundle of hairpins she pulls seemingly out of nowhere. Her phone starts to ring when she’s halfway done and she curses, throwing her phone at Bucky and asking him to stall the Uber while she runs into his bathroom for the volumizing spray Bucky uses when he’s making an effort – which he hasn’t used in months. It makes him feel weirdly choked up, and not just because Natasha, without warning, clouds him in the strong-smelling spray while he’s speaking.

“ _Nat_ ,” he splutters, coughing.

“Shh, don’t be such a baby, this stuff’s all alcohol anyway, think of it as your pregame,” she soothes, continuing to spray him mercilessly as he covers his face.

“Alright, enough,” he wheezes, getting off the phone with the driver and leaving the cloud of fumes. “Let’s go,” he says, grabbing his coat as well as a glance at himself in the mirror in his hallway. The attempt at an actual style _does_ look better than his usual hastily scraped-back bun. “Thanks,” he mutters, grabbing his keys.

“You’re welcome,” Natasha singsongs.

x

The bar is crowded, people packed together, the opening night evidently a success. Bucky imagines he won’t care as much about the lack of personal space once he’s got some alcohol in him. Clint’s there already with Tony, and they’ve clearly got some alcohol in them, a little too happy to see Bucky and Nat, in the way only drunk people can be.

“I haven’t seen you guys in _so long,_ " Clint enthuses, sliding over to make room for them in the booth they managed to grab.

“We saw you yesterday,” Natasha tells him, and then looks at Bucky. “Drinks?”

“Drinks,” Bucky agrees vehemently, glancing in the direction of the bar, and starting to walk towards it.

“I’ll go,” Nat says. “It’ll be quicker. You’re not getting through a crowd of straight men that easy without tits.”  
Bucky scoffs. “How do you know they’re straight?”

“Buck, the logo for this place has a woman’s wide-open mouth in place of the O.”

“You should both go,” Tony suggests, swaying in place to the beat of the bass-heavy song thudding through the speakers. 

“Yeah, little friendly competition. See who gets to the bar first,” Clint agrees.

“First person to buy me a drink wins,” Tony says. Bucky rolls his eyes. 

“Fine.”

“Hey why does he get the drink,” Clint complains. 

Bucky gets up, and so does Natasha. She turns to him, nods, and moves fluidly towards the thick crowd, disappearing into it easily once people turn and see who’s trying to edge past them. Bucky smiles despite himself, and then he’s making his way through too. It’s not exactly hard – he knows from experience that if you look like a man on a mission people will generally leave you be. And then there’s the couple of guys who eye him appreciatively as he nudges by so ha, take that, Natasha.

When he gets closer to the bar though, there’s a hand on his waist, tighter than any stranger’s should be, and an all-too familiar voice teasingly saying, “Think you’re too good for the back of the line?”

Bucky spins around and –begrudgingly– looks up and is met with Steve’s tipsy smile. Bucky reflexively takes a step back, and whoever’s behind him huffs in annoyance and pushes back and then Bucky’s right back in Steve’s face again. Bucky grabs at Steve’s wrist, but his hand doesn’t budge from his waist, stupid meaty fingers even digging in a little.

“What are you doing here?” Bucky hisses, looking around for his friends, already mentally planning through how the hell he’s gonna spin this if they catch Steve practically fucking bowing their bodies together in the middle of this bar. 

“Uh, at a bar on a Saturday night? Take a wild guess, Buck.”

“Don’t you have a paper due Monday?”

“Come on,” Steve wheedles. “Don't be like that. We aren’t at college, you don’t have to – just let me buy you a drink alright?” Steve asks him, and Bucky’s thrown right back into a slew of memories of Steve pushing and chipping away at his willpower until they would inevitably end up naked and all over each other and–

“No,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “We shouldn’t – look, who’d you come here with?”

“Who’d _you_ come here with?” Steve asks accusingly, which is fucking insane considering the bodycount on this kid.

“None of your business,” Bucky tells him, and Steve goes all wide-eyed again because Bucky’s mad and Bucky thinks _Jesus Christ in heaven help me_. 

“Alright, alright, it doesn’t matter. Just let me buy you a drink. Just one,” Steve says, and it doesn’t sound like he’s asking anymore. Just then, there’s a small surge in the crowd as a bunch of people who have just gotten served try to make their way out, and Steve takes the opportunity to propel both himself and Bucky forward, and it’s easy for him, considering his height and mass. 

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky hisses as Steve presses him up against the hard bar, hand still on his his waist. The position they’re in is nothing _but_ compromising, if Bucky bent over a little they’d call it doggy-style, but Steve’s perfectly at ease as he waves over a bartender and orders them a round of drinks. 

“You’re fine,” Steve says, like Bucky’s a fussing child.

“You trying to get me wasted?” Bucky asks as the bartender turns away again to make their drinks, all six of them.

“This way you don’t have to keep coming back,” Steve tells him, lips against Bucky’s ear, plausible deniability because of how loud it is in here. “Practical. You look really good, by the way.”

Bucky swallows. The first drink, blood red in a tall glass, is set down in front of him. “Thanks,” he mumbles, and then picks it up and tips half of it back.

“I like your hair like this,” Steve adds, twirling a strand around his finger and then tugging on it, and. Bucky shakes him off and finishes the rest of his nameless cocktail. 

Ice-filled glass chilling his hands, Bucky finally elbows his way out of Steve’s hold and then looks up at him and tells him, “This isn’t happening.”

“What’s not happening,” Steve says, blinking owlishly.

“Quit playing dumb.”

“You’re so worked up lately,” Steve says, earnest. “Just wanna help with that. I care about you, Buck.” The worst part is Steve only looks like he's half kidding around.

“Steve–”

“Look,” Steve says, taking Bucky’s empty glass out of his hand and handing him two full ones. “I’ll leave you alone, to get back to whatever. Or – whoever. And if you wanna find me, come find me. I’ll be around.”

Bucky sighs deeply. “Steve, you should be having fun, not waiting around hoping I’ll come take you home,” he tells him, that old guilt eating away at him because Steve deserves better, he deserves someone who hasn’t already been there, done that and has the divorce papers to prove it.

Steve smiles at him knowingly. “Uh-huh. See you later tonight.”

Bucky shrugs and turns away, taking his drinks with him. He’s said what needed to be said. This isn’t his fault – his distancing efforts had been working perfectly until today, and that’s _not his fault_ , he hadn’t asked for Steve to meet him at this bar and then shove his crotch against Bucky’s denim-clad ass and then pull his hair and buy him drinks.

He hadn’t asked for any of that.

And Bucky didn’t _do_ anything. He let Steve pay for the drinks, yes, but that’s just a drop in the ocean by way of reparations for Steve making it his mission to torture Bucky into regression every single day of his life.

Natasha is back in their booth by the time Bucky returns, and apparently, they now also have table service, judging by the bartender pouring them drinks.

“How–?” Bucky asks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Tony grabs the second drink out of Bucky’s hands.

“Tits,” Natasha says simply, raising a glass in toast.

x

Thor arrives late, and Bucky narrows his eyes at him and purposefully bites his tongue because of how loose-lipped he knows he gets when he’s been drinking, which he has, a lot. Not for the first time that evening, Bucky scans the room for Steve. Steve’s been busy – not even sexually, but he’s been drifting around, talking to people, men and women alike, horny bisexual social butterfly that he is. He’s here with Sam Wilson, Bucky spotted him not long after he left Steve and recognises him from the football team, and had watched the duo approach a table of girls celebrating a 21st birthday, during which, Steve had looked right at Bucky suddenly, like he knew exactly what Bucky would be doing, and Bucky had turned away so quick it had made his alcohol-addled head spin.

Now that Thor is here, Bucky’s mind wanders in all directions at once. Like, he _knows_ what Steve hinted at was probably bullshit. But. 

But Steve wouldn’t approach him like that if he was fucking Thor, right? The college kids are another story, but Bucky _knows_ Thor. They’re friends. Steve wouldn’t fuck Bucky’s friends. 

Steve and Thor don’t even make sense. Neither do Bucky and Steve but if one were to choose a pairing, objectively, Steve and Bucky make more sense, together, purely from a detached, objective standpoint. 

Bucky’s blood thrums warm under his skin, and he’s a little sweaty from the packed room and the dancing he’d done a couple of drinks in, with Nat and Clint and Tony and that one guy who’d had the right body and a solid, pair of hands and was quiet enough for Bucky to dance up on him and pretend – and then the song had ended and he’d started asking if Bucky wanted to get out of here and he had the wrong voice and he had ruined the whole thing, shattering Bucky’s shameful fantasy. 

Anyway.

Bucky suddenly needs fresh air. He stands up suddenly, and all eyes on the table turn to him in questioning, and he waves them off saying, “Be right back” and they allow it. That’s what Bucky likes about his friends. They don’t ask too many questions, like about his ex-wife, and the long litigation process he not-so-subtly tries to avoid talking about and maybe they wouldn’t question too deeply the exact timeline of when he and Steve became a thing versus when Steve graduated college?

Bucky takes several deeps breaths as he exits the bar, sitting on a bench in the artsy outdoor smoking area with the fake grass and the deck chairs, and not so much breathing in fresh air as he is tobacco and tar. He slouches in his seat, more aware of how drunk he is in that way that happens from standing while inebriated, just sitting and feeling the buzz in his fingers and the thudding in his ears, and he stares at the sky, because he thinks he has earned himself some indulgence into melodrama. He doesn’t see a shooting star or a sign or anything, but he blinks at it anyway and it remains dark and clear and star-studded and unchanging, staring right back at him as if to say _what? Don’t look at me, pal._

And then, Steve’s head pokes into his line of vision, baby blues blinking down at him. “Hey,” Steve says. “Can I join you?”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky slurs, even though Steve’s already pulling up a chair and sitting.

“You made up your mind?” Steve asks.

Bucky rolls his head around to look at him. “I’m gonna ask you one time and one time only so don’t bullshit me.”

Steve’s eyebrows arch in surprise, and he smiles a little, annoying little shit. “Yeah? Ask away.”

“Are you fucking Thor?”

Steve blinks at him, and then cracks up with laughter. Bucky huffs and looks back at the sky, and Steve wheezes next to him. “You really thought–”

“I didn’t think anything,” Bucky growls. “That’s why I’m fuckin’ _asking_.”

“No, you did. You’re jealous. I just said that to get to you, I’m not actually – Jesus, Buck, is that what has you out here fucking stargazing?”

“No,” Bucky lies. “I needed some fresh air. Alright, that’s all I needed to know, you can,” Bucky waves his hand dismissively, adamantly refusing to acknowledge the feeling like a ten-tonne weight has been lifted off of his chest.

“God, that’s all you wanted huh? That what you want? Me waiting around, pining for you? My cock in a metaphorical cage-”

“Jesus,” Bucky says, laughing despite himself. “No, that’s not–”

“What do you want, Bucky,” Steve says. “Because I’ve been more than clear.”

“I’ll say,” Bucky mumbles, because Steve has been. So, so clear. He looks at Steve again, and Steve’s face is right there, so close, and he’s flushed pink from the drink and the heat from inside. Bucky stares for a moment longer, and then Steve’s leaning in to kiss him flush on the mouth, making him shiver with how good it feels, how much he’s been craving this. Steve tugs at Bucky’s bottom lip with his teeth, and Bucky gasps, letting Steve lick into his mouth, wet and urgent.

Bucky’s panting already, kissing Steve back, hand around the back of his neck, giving as good as he’s getting. Steve curses and Bucky huffs an incredulous laugh that makes Steve smile, and then their teeth are clacking against each other and they’re breaking apart to laugh breathlessly. Steve ducks his head, presses kisses against Bucky’s jaw, teeth nipping at him, marking him up. Bucky’s fucking warned him against that countless times, he’s a _professional_ , he can’t be walking around with a necklace of hickeys, but Steve’s incorrigible, he always has been.

It’s not until one of Steve’s big hands grope at the bulge in Bucky’s jeans with intent that Bucky stops Steve. “We’re in public,” he pants. 

“So?” Steve mumbles, still pressing stubborn kisses to Bucky’s neck. “Pretty sure that girl on the bench next to you’s getting fingered right now.”

Bucky grabs Steve’s face with his hand to still him, pulling it away from him so they’re eye-to-eye. “’M not getting fingered in the smoking area.”

Steve’s eyes light up. “So you’re open to getting fingered,” he beams.

“Oh my God,” Bucky breathes. 

Steve digs his phone out of his pocket and starts to tap. “Your place or mine?”

Bucky bites at his lip. “Steve,” he begins.

“Look,” Steve says. “We don’t have to do anything, alright? Just let me take you home.”

“You don’t have to,” Bucky tries.

“I want to,” Steve says.

Bucky sighs. “Alright. Let’s go to mine. You know the address, right?” Bucky says dryly.

“Like the back of my hand,” Steve says, shamelessly.

x

Bucky falls asleep in the Uber.

He doesn’t realise it when it happens, but he jerks when Steve gently taps him awake when they pull up outside his house. He groans and Steve supports most of his weight inside. Somewhere within the fog and darkness of his brain, he’s aware he should at the very least be making an effort to stand upright, but Steve is so warm and solid, obviously less drunk than he is, guiding him steadily towards his door. Bucky snorts as Steve digs the keys out of Bucky’s back pocket.

“Shouldn’t you be the one getting way too drunk while I take care of you,” he mumbles against Steve’s shoulder as he unlocks his door.

“Wow another age dig,” Steve says, monotone. “Ha-ha.”

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky slurs. “Whatever. You’re in a frat. I heard about your disciplinary last semester for drunken indecent exposure. I’m not that far off the mark.”

“Let’s get you to bed,” is all Steve says once he’s got the front door locked behind them. Bucky is about to wince at the thought of stairs when Steve ducks low and then scoops Bucky up into his arms, holding him against his chest. Other than a shocked gasp, Bucky doesn’t even feign indignance, glad to be saved from the plight of more walking. Those last few Cosmos are kicking his ass all of a sudden and he needs to be horizontal as soon as possible. Steve moves through his house like he’s been here before, which he has, many times. He sets Bucky down on his bed, on his back, and Bucky blinks blearily up at him.

“Thanks,” he says.

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve tells him, leaning down and unbuttoning Bucky’s jeans. Bucky’s mind doesn’t even wander in the direction of sex or telling Steve not tonight because he can’t even tell which way is up right now and the implicit trust in that doesn’t hit him properly until later. He knows Steve wouldn’t try anything, not while he’s like this. Steve tugs his shoes and pants off of him, then rummages in Bucky’s drawers for a soft enough shirt before unbuttoning Bucky’s silk one and helping him slip the replacement on over his head. Bucky progressively gets dozier and weaker and by the time Steve’s done changing his clothes, he’s half asleep. He hears Steve pad out of the room and calls out to him, cotton-mouthed, and gets a _one sec_ in response. Steve comes back in with a large glass of water and coaxes Bucky upright while he complains.

“I’m not thirsty,” he groans.

“C’mon,” Steve encourages. “You know you’re gonna be dehydrated tomorrow if you don’t.”

Bucky looks at Steve, and Steve smiles encouragingly back at him, and obviously, Bucky’s a weakling because from that alone, he caves and chugs the whole glass. Steve sets it down on the nightstand and Bucky lays back down, feeling weirdly liquid. 

“I’ve got some more shirts if you need them,” he says.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Not looking for a crop top, Buck.”

“Hey,” Bucky says, but can’t feel his face enough to frown. “Fuck you.”

“Maybe when you’re only seeing one of me instead of three,” Steve says, pulling his own shirt up off over his head. Bucky stares unabashedly at his chest. Steve meets his eye as he undoes his pants. “You good?” he asks, not _not_ smirking, the bastard.

“’M fine,” Bucky mutters, now staring right at Steve’s crotch as Steve tugs his pants off. “Come here.”

Steve slides himself into bed, next to Bucky. Bucky tilts his head up to kiss him, lazy but hungry, and Steve kisses him back, way too reservedly for Bucky’s liking.

He pulls away, bumping their noses together. “I was serious,” he murmurs. “You’re really drunk.”

“No,” Bucky argues blindly. “I- drank water. I’m fine.”

“Yeah you are,” Steve agrees, and Bucky flushes, cheesy as the line is. “Tomorrow, if you still wanna, I’m all yours.”

“Fine,” Bucky says, managing a frown, and Steve leans in to kiss it off his face. 

“You’re killing me,” Steve tells him in between pecks. “All this time and the one time you decide to stop being such a primadonna you get white-girl wasted and we can’t even – Jesus, Buck.”

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t have said you were fucking Thor.”

“I _didn’t_ ,” Steve groans. “I hinted at it as a _joke_.”

“Ha-ha,” Bucky monotones. “Now look at us. Thanks a lot,” he says, slurring his words even more now because Steve’s gently carding his fingers through his hair and it feels really nice.

“Mhm,” Steve says. “’Night.”

Bucky's snap open suddenly. "Fuck - Nat," he groans. "Can you - where's my phone, I have to tell her I'm home."

"Put it on your nightstand," Steve says, sounding weirdly distant. 

Bucky feels blindly around for it before he grabs it, squinting at the screen as he taps out a _im home_ and then lets his phone drop before drifting off, Steve’s body warm against his.

x

When Bucky wakes up, his throat feels like the desert. It takes him a solid five minutes to work up the courage to open his eyes against the muted sunlight shining through his blinds. He turns his head and sees a tall glass of water sitting on his nightstand, hears the telltale sounds of someone making breakfast in the kitchen. The smell of bacon makes his stomach growl and reminds him that he’s starving, had barely eaten before he went out yesterday. Rookie move, because look at him now. He sits up slowly, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and drinks half of the glass, standing and making his way to the bathroom to get Advil out of the cabinet to wash down with the remaining half.

He shuts the cabinet door and stares at the mirror.

He looks like a fucking mess. 

He turns towards the shower.

x

When he’s all washed up, he comes downstairs where Steve’s playing music quietly, low, melodic R&B that makes Bucky think of the Spotify playlists Steve used to make for him way back when. 

He feels a lot better, the hot water undoing a lot of the damage, but not exactly erasing his memory.

“Hey,” Bucky says, leaning against the doorway like he’s a stranger in his own goddamn house. He feels awkward but he can’t help it because last night has been coming back to him in snatches all morning and he can’t help but feel vaguely embarrassed in the way that comes after spending a couple of hours totally free of inhibitions and out of your senses.

But – Steve is still here, and that’s a good sign, right? Bacon levels of good, apparently. Although he doesn’t know if that’s a great metric to measure things by. Sometimes he feels like Steve will always be here. And it scares the shit out of him, how good that feels, sometimes.

“Hey, you’re up,” Steve grins as a soulful voice sings about raunchy sex from the little Bluetooth speaker Bucky keeps in the kitchen. “How’d you sleep?”

“Like the dead,” Bucky mutters, coming in a little closer, cheeks pinkening. “What’re you making?”

Steve shrugs. “Figured you’d want something greasy. Always helps me when I’m coming down off a bender.”

“That wasn’t a-”

“How do you want your eggs?” Steve asks. 

Bucky sighs and slides into a chair by the island. “Scrambled. You’re gonna hurt yourself cooking shirtless like that,” he tells him, staring at Steve’s muscular back.

“Nah,” Steve says, very much only in his underwear. “There’s juice in the fridge.”

Bucky resists the urge to tell him he knows what’s in his own fridge and hops up to pour them two glasses, not _not_ checking Steve out when he seems to not be looking at him. Bucky had made some – advances, yesterday. They both had. He had imagined apologising for them today, in the shower, flashes of how he’d drunkenly pawed at Steve flashing through his head, but that had only led to more flashbacks and then more and then Bucky had his fist wrapped around himself while thinking about Steve’s stupid, bright smile and his stupid, fat cock and now Steve’s standing here in his kitchen with those tiny, clingy boxer shorts ridiculously low on his hips, asking him how he likes his eggs–

“Hey,” Bucky says, voice thick. Steve jumps a little, because Bucky’s light on his feet and managed to sneak up on him, but he turns and then does a bit of a double-take when he sees the look on Bucky’s face.

“Hey,” Steve breathes, turning all the way to face him. Bucky cages him, leaning up to press their lips together, kissing him, sliding his tongue wetly against his. Steve groans, and Bucky reaches behind him to flick the stove off, and then slides the same hand into Steve’s boxers, hand wrapping around Steve’s hardening cock and making him gasp. “Ngh,” he groans, and it’s like music to Bucky’s ears, makes him _want_.

Bucky pulls back and drops to his knees, and Steve gives another low groan, hand threading into Bucky’s still-damp hair. “Yeah?” Bucky breathes shakily, pulling the boxers all the way off and yeah, _there_ he is. He strokes him, mouth watering as he thickens up in his hand..

“Jesus fuck I missed you,” Steve shivers, _yeah you and me both, pal_.

Bucky opens his mouth and sucks on the tip, and Steve makes an unintelligible sound, so Bucky takes him deeper, cheeks hollowing out around him, his head bobbing down further each time. Steve’s hand tightens more in his hair, until it’s in a fist and he’s pulling, the tug of it making Bucky’s scalp tingle and his cock fatten up in his sweats.

Bucky takes a deep breath through his nose and forces himself down further, until his nose is nestled into the blond curls at the base of Steve’s cock, swallowing compulsively around him. Steve bucks his hips and Bucky gags and drool and feels his muscles contract and it obviously feels fucking fantastic, because Steve’s doing it again and again, hand tight in Bucky’s hair, mouth filthy like it always gets when Steve’s feeling good, _fuck that’s it, suck me so good, Christ._ Steve’s moaning, rolling his hips into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky’s fingers dig into Steve’s thighs, and Steve pulls him off, looking at him through hooded eyes, chest heaving. “Get up,” Steve says, breathless. 

Bucky shakes his head, taking Steve’s cock back into his mouth. Steve groans, just watching him for a long moment, before shaking his head, pulling harder. “Mm,” Bucky hums.

“Buck – baby, please, let me–” Steve’s hissing in pleasure as he tugs Bucky off of him again, sliding to his own knees, and crushing their mouths together, kissing him deep. Bucky gasps as Steve gets him on the floor, touching him everywhere, hands rucking up his shirt and pawing at his chest, fingers tugging and pinching at his nipples. Bucky whines and Steve slides his other hand into Bucky’s sweats, palming his cock, and then slipping lower, pressing a dry finger against Bucky’s hole. Bucky rolls his hips and Steve curses quietly. “Slick– we need –” Steve begins, and then without warning, picks Bucky up, practically throwing him over his shoulder as he makes for the stairs. Bucky’s laughing at his urgency, and Steve snorts too, despite himself, and then they’re in Bucky’s room, Steve laying him down and looking at him like he wants to eat him alive.

Bucky kicks his sweats the rest of the way off, and Steve’s gaze practically glazes over, settling between Bucky’s legs, hands gripping Bucky’s thighs and tugging him down so his ass is flush against Steve’s cock. Bucky shivers, arching because _oh fuck yes_.

“Top drawer,” Bucky pants, and Steve reaches behind him to tug the drawer open and rummage for, and grab, his lube. 

“Used to keep it under your mattress,” Steve muses, uncapping it and smearing the clear slick messily all over his fingers. “Been needing easier access lately?”

“Watch it,” Bucky breathes as Steve spreads his legs a little more, pushes his knees up against his chest. Steve looks at him, amused, and Bucky’s cheeks heat up the longer he holds his gaze, mouth dropping open around an involuntary gasp as Steve slowly slips a finger into him. “Steve,” he breathes, heart thudding as he works him open, with the kind of slow control that Bucky knows he taught him. 

“I got you,” Steve hushes him, slowly working him over with the thick digit, his other hand around his waist, thumb rubbing wide circles into his skin like he’s trying to soothe him. Bucky’s gonna kill him.

“More,” Bucky demands, pushing back against his hand, and Steve holds him down with practiced ease, his eyes sliding between Bucky’s face and his hole. 

“Ask a guy nicely,” Steve says, sarcastic, before working another finger into him anyway, before Bucky can say anything back. Bucky shivers as they flex and curl inside of him, sliding against his spot purposefully. Steve’s cock is flushed and leaking, curved against his stomach, and even the sight of it makes Bucky itch with need.

“C’mon,” he moans. He’s single guy going through a dry patch in possession of a dildo, alright, he’s _more_ than ready. 

“Gotta stretch you,” Steve tells him. 

“Stretched _plenty_ ,” Bucky tells him, breath hitching as Steve adds a third, and then escaping him in a sob that makes Steve’s eyes flash up to his face.

“Yeah,” he breathes, settling over Bucky now, hand coming up and bracing himself up by Bucky’s head. Bucky’s eyes screw shut, hot everywhere as Steve fingers him open, his head spinning with it. “Yeah, you like that?”

“Shut up,” Bucky says, in an embarrassingly weak rasp.

He can hear the smile in Steve’s voice when he says, “Nuh-uh,” the little shit. He pushes in deeper and then kisses Bucky, fucking his mouth with his tongue in time with his fingers. Bucky writhes, a hand up on Steve’s shoulder, fingernails digging into his skin, and Jesus fuck, Bucky should never have taught Steve how to fuck him, the insufferable bastard. “You want my cock?” Steve asks.

“What the fuck do you th- _oh_ ,” Bucky moans as Steve scissors his fingers inside of him, stretching him further. 

“I don’t know,” Steve mumbles, sounding unsure. “Do you?”

“Just fuck me,” Bucky slurs, heart thudding in his chest with how much he wants it. “Quit fucking around, just–”

Steve pulls his fingers out of him so quick it knocks the breath out of Bucky, and then, just as fast, he’s sliding into him, slow enough that Bucky can feel the stretch, and it fucking aches, his mouth falling open on a cracked whine as Steve bends him in half and makes him take it.

“What?” Steve’s saying, his own voice tight as he works mindless little sounds out of Bucky, cock not even all the way in him yet and he’s already going out of his fucking mind, Jesus, no wonder he’s got such a fucking ego. “Thought you wanted me to quit fucking around.”

Bucky shivers, eyes flickering open when he wasn’t even aware he’d closed them. “Don’t stop,” he slurs, his whole body thrumming with the ache of the stretch. "Don't - oh -"

“I know,” Steve says, rolling his hips, burying himself deeper. “Like how full that makes you feel, huh?”

“Steve,” Bucky moans, because it’s all he can think of, and Steve groans quietly as he bottoms out, deep inside of him, Bucky’s heart slamming against his chest so hard it leaves him seeing stars. Steve rocks his hips a little, just a little, and Bucky honest to God squeaks, his back arching, feeling Steve so deep he absentmindedly worries for the safety of his guts. “ _Ngh – oh_.”

Steve hums, frustratingly controlled, a hand rubbing up Bucky’s belly and settling on one of his pecs, squeezing and then pinching and tugging at his nipple, like he’s a goddamn girl. Bucky flushes despite himself, and Steve smiles knowingly. 

“You used to jackhammer me for two minutes then come on my stomach, you know,” Bucky says breathlessly, reminding Steve’s smug face of its roots as he feels his legs already starting to shake. You teach a guy the art of teasing and he uses it for evil, there is no justice.

Steve laughs, quiet, but Bucky feels him shake with it, sees his eyes crinkle with it, and the sound makes Bucky’s heart clench, same as always, and then Steve starts to roll his hips, rocking in and out of him, deep and slow and making Bucky sweat. “That what you want?” Steve asks, teasing, breathless.

“Fuck you,” Bucky pants because he knows, he knows exactly what Bucky wants.

Steve tugs on Bucky’s nipple again, rolling the hardened, flushed peak between his fingers, groaning as it makes Bucky clench around him. “You want me to fuck you hard?” he asks.

“I’m gonna kill you,” Bucky breathes.

“Say it,” Steve says, his fingers biting into Bucky’s thighs, and then he flips him, his cock slipping out of him as he rolls Bucky onto his stomach and straddles his thighs, fucking into him again before stilling his hips. “Ask me,” Steve’s saying, hand around the back of Bucky’s neck as Bucky grasps at the sheets, Steve holding him down and making him even weaker.

“Fuck me,” Bucky moans, “Come on, just – oh – oh, _fuck_ ,” he breathes as Steve finally, finally pulls out and fucks him like he wants, hard and mean, shoving his cock deep over and over and making Bucky ache. His teeth dig into his lower lip so hard he tastes blood, every thrust forcing loud, desperate sounds right out of his throat, “Steve, _Steve, oh_ ,” he moans, and Steve’s pace only quickens as Bucky cries out. Bucky feels like he’s going to fucking die, and after all this time he’s suddenly afraid of the fall, muscles tightening as he braces himself. 

“That’s good, huh?” Steve asks, and Bucky nods, unthinking.

“Uh-huh,” he pants, out of his head.

“Yeah,” Steve’s crooning. “See how easy it is when you let me take care of you?” he asks, and Bucky wants to call him an asshole, bite back, but he feels raw and open and honest, head bobbing in another nod as Steve’s cock drags mercilessly against his spot, wrecking him like only he knows how. The closer Bucky gets, the deeper Steve goes, until his chest is plastered against Bucky’s back and he’s not even pulling out at all, the orgasm burning deep and low inside of Bucky as Steve pounds him into the mattress. Steve’s obviously pleased by the whimpering mess Bucky has been reduced to, pressing sweet kisses to his neck, inner toppy bastard now sated. 

“I- Steve, I–” Bucky gasps, finding and losing his voice again.

“Mhm,” Steve rumbles, fucking choked-out little whines out of him. “That’s good, honey, that’s perfect,” he’s murmuring, and Bucky’s fingers flex and ball into fists again, overwhelmed, before Steve’s putting one of his own hands over Bucky’s and Bucky’s clinging to it instead, body jolting hard with every thrust, and then he’s writhing, letting out a desperate sob as he comes, his fingernails digging into Steve’s hand, panting out unintelligible pleas. Steve moans out a low curse, and Bucky squeezes his hand weakly as he gives a choked-out groan of Bucky’s name and stills deep inside him before coming. Bucky breathes through another flash of heat as he feels Steve filling him up, panting as Steve slowly comes back down, hips jerking a little inside him.

When Bucky starts to come back to himself a little, he realises Steve is slumped on top of him, pressing sloppy kisses to his skin. Bucky hums lazily, feeling warm and sated and more cared for than he has in a while.

“Hey,” Steve says softly, after a minute. “You still hungry? Because I am.”

Bucky snorts, and then nods. “Yeah. One hell of a workout.”

Steve huffs a laugh. “Considering I did all the work.”

Bucky mouth falls open in indignation. “Because you _wanted_ to.”

“Uh-huh,” Steve’s saying, pressing a loud kiss to Bucky’s cheek and then getting up. “Okay, princess. Scrambled, for the eggs?”

Bucky frowns at his stupid, beaming face. “Yes,” he sulks.

“On it,” Steve says, turning and making his way downstairs.

Once he’s safely gone, Bucky lets a blissful smile finally take over his face.

x

Later, after Bucky’s sucked Steve off again to thank him for breakfast, they sit down in front of the TV to find something to watch.

It takes about two episodes of Parks and Rec for the sex endorphins to start wearing off and for reality to start creeping back in. Bucky has bitten his lip raw before Steve finally addresses it.

“Stop,” he says, threading his fingers through Bucky’s hair. Bucky looks up at him. His head is on Steve’s chest and it’s kind of unfair that he doesn’t have a double chin even at this angle.

“Stop what?” Bucky asks.

“You’re thinking.”

It’s not untrue. Bucky’s teeth dig into his lip again.

“Steve,” Bucky starts, and Steve sighs quietly, like he’s already heard everything Bucky is about to say. Because he has. They’ve had this exact conversation countless times before and yet, here they are again. “I just don’t want you to end up regretting anything,” Bucky says, cutting to the chase, the foundation of all his worries.

“Bucky,” Steve says, almost mimicking him. “The only regret I’m gonna have is what could’ve been. I – I want to be with you. You’re not as damaged as you think you are.”

Bucky looks away from him, laying back down and feeling way too seen. He blinks at the TV screen for a moment and then says, “You could have anybody you wanted, you know that? Sure as hell’ve been making an effort to make sure _I_ do.”

“You started it,” Steve tells him, sounding annoyed. Bucky looks up at him again.

“What do you mean, I started it?”

“Natasha?” Steve says accusingly.

Bucky blinks slowly. “You think I’m fucking Natasha?”

“She’s always with you and last night you came to that bar together–”

“She’s my _friend_.”

“Bullshit,” Steve calls. 

“I’m _gay_ ,” Bucky says, snorting a laugh. 

Steve's eyes widen at the revelation, but he rushes to defend himself anyway. “Well we never – you never defined anything,” Steve argues, cheeks starting to pinken. “And you were fucking _married_ to a– it was perfectly reasonable to assume you were into–”

“You’ve been fucking your way through the entire student body to make me jealous because you thought I was with Natasha,” Bucky breathes. “Incredible.”

Steve shrugs, not meeting Bucky’s eye. “Well I didn’t fuck _all_ of them.”

“No?” Bucky snorts.

“Sometimes I just– if you were nearby, I’d just. Flirt a little. Look, what does it matter?” Steve huffs, because Bucky has devolved into peals of laughter. “Whatever, fine, only date other 32-year-old divorcees who think they don’t deserve happiness, see if I care,” he says, folding his arms.

Bucky rolls his eyes and lays back down on top of Steve, wrapping his arms around his waist. By the end of the episode, Steve’s playing with his hair again. 

x

Eventually, as the sun starts to cast shadows across the wall, Bucky hears Steve’s stomach rumble.

“Hm,” Bucky hums. “Pizza?” 

“Do you know how to cook?” Steve asks, sounding accusatory. Bucky squints up at him.

“What do you mean, do I know how to cook?” he asks.

Steve shrugs. “I made breakfast this morning. Whenever I’d come over before, if I didn’t make anything, you’d order takeout. And I had to run out to the bodega down the street this morning to get the bacon and eggs because your fridge was so empty, like it always is–”

Bucky stands up. He will not let his character be called into question like this. “Get your shoes.”

“Are you kicking me out because I questioned your culinary skills?”

“We’re going to the store.”

“Look, you don’t have to prove anything to me,” Steve tells him, faux-innocent. Bucky’s aware that he’s being goaded but can’t find it in himself to care too much.

“ _Shoes_ ,” he commands, grabbing his keys as Steve salutes and goes in search of them.

Bucky _can_ cook, alright? He has, before. But shit was easier back then, and now the effort of putting time into his daily sustenance is just draining. His meals come from sandwich shops and Pizza Huts these days. He can’t remember the last time he picked up a pan but making a good Alfredo has got to be muscle memory at this point.

x

Grocery shopping is. Weirdly domestic.

Steve is dressed in the dudebro muscle tee he wore out on Saturday, and a pair of oversized sweats Bucky wears on lazy days, so, a lot. He guides Bucky in and out of the aisles once he has successfully forced him to admit he has no clue where anything is, and he was absolutely one of those husbands who was not involved in the grocery shopping and he is very sorry for his sins and promises to repent. After that, Steve is weirdly sweet and knowledgeable about this, which is very much Steve’s Trademark regarding all things.

“Fuck name brand, that shit’s not even Fairtrade,” Steve scoffs, crouching to the bottom shelf and pulling out a bag of pasta which has packaging that’s a lot less fancy than what Bucky’s holding. “We’re getting this. Tastes the same.”

Bucky stares at the two products with a three-dollar price different and nods his concession. “You know a lot about grocery shopping.”

“I’m a college student in one of the most expensive cities in the world, I gotta.”

“Kinda hot,” Bucky says, pushing the cart onwards.

“You’re just saying that ‘cause I jacked you off in the parking lot.”

Bucky’s cheeks burn. It’s dark out and Steve’s handsy, alright, what was he supposed to do, say no? He’s just a man.

Bucky turns to glare at him, and Steve snickers, rounding the corner and ducking into the next aisle. Before Bucky can follow after him, Tony Stark comes strolling by, spotting Bucky the second Bucky spots him, before he can look away and pretend to not be who he is.

“Oh,” Bucky says, trying his best to tone down the deer-in-the-headlights look.

“He lives,” Tony grins, walking over. “Where the hell did you get to last night, huh?”

“Sorry,” Bucky says, mouth dry as he prays for Steve to stay wherever the hell he is. “I texted Nat. To say I was safe. I just got too drunk last night, had to get out of there.”

“I know how that goes,” Tony agrees. “You good now though?”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky squeaks.

“More than good, I see,” Tony grins, raising his eyebrows conspiratorially as his eyes settle on Bucky’s neck and the dark bruises that undoubtedly litter it, Jesus, what was he thinking, coming out in anything less than a turtleneck?

“Uh-huh,” Bucky says again, sounding a little more hysterical, angling his body away from the aisle Steve’s in. “I, uh. I gotta go.”

“Okay,” Tony singsongs. “See you at the office.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, and then barrels away back into the pasta aisle, and then continues walking until he’s at the other end of the store, where he stands in the midst of the fresh fruit and vegetables and tries not to hyperventilate.

Jesus fuck that was too fucking close for comfort.

Grasping the handle of the cart tight to stop his hands from shaking, Bucky tries to calm himself down. 

Logically, he knows Tony wouldn’t tell anybody, if Steve had just so happened to walk up to him, and Tony somehow put two and two together right there as they stood amongst the pasta. But he’d _know_ , and Bucky doesn’t know if there’s anything _to_ know, yet. He hasn’t put things together in his head enough to come to any sort of conclusion and to let other people in on this when Bucky hasn’t figured out what this is himself? He wants to live in this bubble with Steve a little longer with no consequences and nothing to consider but how they make each other feel but now he feels like that bubble’s been popped and the messy reality is that he’s in love with his student and he’s not entirely sure what the fuck he’s supposed to do with that.

Steve doesn’t care. He doesn’t care how it might look or about questions people might ask but Steve’s not the one who’s meant to be being responsible here and Bucky doesn’t know if _but I love him_ is that great of an excuse. It sure as hell wouldn’t hold up in an employment tribunal, that’s for sure.

Bucky’s being stupid and reckless, Steve’s rubbing off on him, and he feels his back straighten with new resolve as he opens his phone to his contacts page, where he knows Steve would have taken the liberty of re-saving his number at some point over the past several hours.

“Meet me in the car,” he texts him, abandoning his shopping cart and walking back to the parking lot.

x

Steve doesn’t say anything as he pulls the door open and sits in the passenger seat, like he knows something’s changed, which Bucky guesses is pretty obvious. He looks at Bucky, or at the side of Bucky’s face, while Bucky stares right ahead, like a coward. He takes a breath.

“Steve,” he says, and then winces, because it always fucking starts like this. “We can’t do this anymore.”

Steve’s quiet a little longer, before he snorts. “Oh, we can’t, huh?”

“I’m serious.”

“What happened in there? This ‘cause I left you in the fuckin’ pasta aisle?”

“No,” Bucky sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It’s just. A lot of things, that hit me at once. You know I could lose my job if anyone found out about this?”

“I’m graduating–”

“And what about after?” Bucky says. “When you’ve fucked it all out of your system and you realize I’m never gonna _not_ have an insane amount of baggage and you get weary or bored and–”

“Seems like you’re the one who keeps getting bored,” Steve says, voice hard with restrained anger. “Know what, Bucky? I agree. Maybe we’re not good for each other. I should know by now where this is gonna end up, but I keep coming back just for you to tell me the same thing, well shit, maybe it’s time I listened.”

Bucky finally looks at Steve, and he’s hurt, jaw tight, all the light from earlier gone from his eyes, and Bucky feels lower than ever. “I’m sorry,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to do.

Steve opens the door and gets out of the car. He doesn’t even slam the door, and somehow that’s even worse.

x

Bucky drives back home after a couple more minutes of staring out of his windscreen. He considers sending Steve a _text me when you get home safe_ text because it’s dark out but refrains because Steve doesn’t owe him that peace of mind. 

When he gets home, he opens his laptop in a quest to keep his mind occupied, and is met with lawyer emails about final arrangements, which means things are starting to wrap up, which should make him feel relieved, but doesn’t really make him feel much of anything, so he closes it again, and then orders a pizza, and cries.

x

Steve doesn’t come to class at all on Monday. Throughout the lesson, Bucky hopes that he’s just late, as per usual, because a total absence is more than unusual, and the worry from before is ramped up even more as the minutes tick by without an appearance.

Bucky teaches two more classes before lunch, and then considers taking the rest of the day off, on account of feeling like shit, but then Natasha comes breezing out of a lecture hall and blinks at him.

“You look like shit.”

He gives her a dry smile. “Thanks.”

“C’mon, let’s eat,” Natasha says, leading the way to the staff breakroom. 

“I was thinking about just going home,” Bucky says.

“For a hangover? Have some coffee, you big baby.”

“I’m not hungover,” Bucky tells her. He fucking wishes. “Think I’m coming down with something,” he says.

She glances at him again, but doesn’t say anything else, until they’re at their usual table, and she’s gesturing for him to sit down so she can put him under the full weight of her piercing stare.

“This about Steve?” she says, her voice a lot softer than he expected.

Bucky’s eyes widen. “Is what about Steve? Steve who?”

She rolls her eyes. “Cut the act, Barnes, I know.”

“How?” Bucky hisses. Natasha’s a lot of things but she doesn’t bullshit. 

She shrugs. “Call it intuition.” Bucky stares at her, trying to convey how quickly his reality is fragmenting here because if they’ve been _obvious_ than that means– “I’m kidding. I saw his football jersey in your bedroom the first time I came to your house.”

Bucky’s rapid heartrate slows marginally, and his ears start to pinken. Fucking Steve and his habit of leaving things at Bucky’s so he can use coming to pick them up as a future in. “Oh,” he croaks. “But that was.”

“Yeah, over a year ago,” she agrees. “And after that it was a little easier to notice that he makes gooey eyes at you when you’re not looking. Or sometimes when you are looking.”

“Jesus,” Bucky breathes.

“Still kind of thought it might just be confirmation bias until I saw him practically dry-humping you against the bar last weekend. Listen,” she says, putting one of her hands over his as Bucky prays that the building will collapse, “it’s _okay_.”

Bucky pulls his hand away so he can put his head in both of them. “Oh my God,” he groans.

“So, it _is_ about Steve?” she confirms, sounding pleased with herself.

Bucky peers at her. “Anyone else know?”

Natasha shrugs. “So what if they do?”

“Nat,” Bucky says, stern.

“I’m serious,” Natasha tells him, folding her arms. “We don’t work at a high-school, Bucky. Who gives a shit?”

“Our bosses probably would,” Bucky says, exasperated.

“You’ve gone, what? Over a year, fifteen months or so, keeping this a secret? I think you can keep it up ‘til summer break.”

Bucky frowns, and Nat smiles pleasantly back at him. “Still,” he mutters, trying not to sound like a petulant child.

“Still, nothing,” Natasha says. “This is nothing but your own self-sabotage fetish kicking in because you think you don’t deserve a 22-year old piece of ass, and Jesus, Bucky, live a little. Love again. Suck a dick. You’re not dead yet. Hey Thor,” Natasha smiles, voice increasing in volume again, making Bucky jolt and look up as Thor approaches them.

“Natasha,” Thor greets her. “Bucky, good to see you’re still alive.”

“He’s super hungover,” Natasha tells him, when Bucky continues to blink into the middle distance instead of responding. 

“Lightweight,” Thor laughs.

x

Lunch is nearly over when Bucky finds Steve, alone, running laps of the football field. It didn’t take him long, another couple of minutes of Thor talking about the Championships and he remembers Steve’s second-favourite form of stress relief. 

Steve spots him coming into the stands and looks away, and keeps running, rounding back off as he reaches the end of the pitch and taking off even faster. Bucky walks out towards the field and sees Sam Wilson sitting on a bench, also watching. 

Bucky looks at him. “Uh,” he says, not having anticipated having to make a declaration of love in front of anybody else. “Could I have a minute with Steve?”

Sam looks at Bucky, eyebrows raised, for a long minute. Then he snorts a humourless laugh and tells him, “You’ve got some nerve.”

“I mean,” Bucky relents, figuring he’s gonna say what he has to say regardless. “I guess you could stay if you want.”

“I’m not talking about that,” Sam tells him, meaning in his voice.

“Oh,” Bucky says, suddenly flushed with shame because shit, he must look like a fucking supervillain to Steve’s friends. “He told you?”

“He doesn’t tell me shit about you,” Sam tells him. “But I’m not stupid.”

The fact that Steve didn’t tell anyone about them – the fact that he’s trying to keep Bucky safe even now, makes Bucky feel a little choked up.

Bucky nods, clearing his throat. “How long’s he been like this?”

“All day,” Sam says. “Played some one-on-one with him earlier but I’m exhausted. Look, if you’re just gonna make it worse, don’t. He’s built like a tank and I can only get tackled so many times.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, be careful,” Sam says, sitting back again, eyes on the field.

“Got it,” Bucky breathes. “Okay.”

After a beat, Bucky walks closer, onto the grass, at the edge of the field. Steve stops right in front of him, looking right through him, and then walks past Bucky. Bucky turns and watches as Steve grabs a plastic water bottle out of what looks like a case of 16. There are several empty ones laying on the ground. Bucky swallows, and so does Steve, gulping the whole bottle down, before dropping it and looking at Bucky expectantly, sweaty hair in his face.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says.

“Said that already,” Steve says, already turning away.

“And I love you,” Bucky adds quickly. Steve freezes, and then turns to face him again.

“I swear to God,” he says, shaky. “I swear to _God_ , Bucky, if you tell me that now and then drop me in a week–”

“I won’t,” Bucky promises. “I’m not– I’m serious, Steve, and I’m not expecting that to make it all better and I’m ready to work for this if I have to, but I want you to know that. I’m gonna quit being such a fucking coward,” he promises.

Steve looks at him for a moment longer, eyes searching his face as if he’s trying to ascertain whether this is some new and creative way to get in his pants. Bucky feels like a piece of shit, and he _will_ earn Steve’s trust again, he swears.

“You’re serious,” Steve says. 

“Dead serious,” Bucky tells him. “I want to be with you.”

A smile plays at Steve’s lips. “’Course you do,” he says, that bravado Bucky loves so much returning, and Bucky feels like he can finally breathe again, and it’s barely been 24 hours but God, he missed him so much. Without thinking, he’s stepping closer and kissing Steve, and Steve smiles into it, kissing him back, hand on his waist holding him close, and Bucky feels his veins fill with the warmth of relief, the knowledge that they’re got something more than the fragility of a bubble now, something they can actually work on–

“You bring lube?” Steve pants against Bucky’s mouth. Bucky huffs a laugh, and Steve gropes at his ass while a groan of disgust echoes in the distance, followed by Sam leaving, the door slamming behind him.

“Why the hell would I–”

“Come on, you knew how this was gonna go.”

“You’re not fucking me in the bleachers,” Bucky tells him.

“You broke my heart for the thousandth time after I made you come four times in one day, I can fuck you wherever I like,” Steve shoots back.

“You’re not letting that go easily, huh.”

“Thought you wanted to work for it,” Steve says, smiling beatifically.

“At least _shower_ first, Jesus.”

“Fine,” Steve says, letting Bucky go, reaching down to grab his things. “Your house it is. Meet you in the parking lot?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, trying to not look like a lovestruck dumbass and failing. “Parking lot.”

“Oh, and, uh,” Steve says, hooking his bag over his shoulder. “I love you too. In case it wasn’t obvious.”

Bucky realises for the first time that it was, so much so that he hadn’t even realised Steve never said it back.

“Yeah,” Bucky nods. “I know.”

x

"I'm taking you to dinner," Bucky tells him after round two, lazy and sated. His sheets are ruined but he can't bring himself to care. "You deserve an actual date."

"See, this just furthers my conspiracy theory that you just can't cook."

"Oh my God," Bucky groans into Steve's shoulder.

"We go out to get you ingredients and you dump me right there at the store out of nowhere."

Bucky laughs, "That's not why-"

"And now," Steve says, stifling his own laughter, "you want us to go out for dinner and, I mean, all signs point in that direction, Buck."

"I can't do something nice for you?"

"You can cook for me, is what you can do," Steve tells him.

"Fine," Bucky says. "Fine, I'll make you dinner, alright? Happy?"

"Very," Steve tells him, kissing the top of Bucky's head.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading :)) you can find me on twitter at @mcwho4


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